


I'll be by your side (even if I'm not next to you)

by tamquamm



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Call Down the Hawk, Canon Compliant, Happy Ending, M/M, Ronan POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24311605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamquamm/pseuds/tamquamm
Summary: The truth is, the first few weeks are hard. Not that Ronan admits this to Adam.Or: Adam goes to college and Ronan deals with the places where he’s missing.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 10
Kudos: 112





	I'll be by your side (even if I'm not next to you)

The truth is, the first few weeks are hard.

Not that Ronan admits this to Adam, not when he can hear the smile in his voice when he talks about how he’s settling in; the shiny new wonder, the revived aspiration. He won’t derail him, not when he’s finally made it to where he’d always meant to be. So Ronan listens more than he tells, and does his best to avoid clueing Adam in. 

Deep down he knows it makes it that more obvious. Adam knows him better than he knows himself, sometimes. Adam knows, he always knows. But it also means that he knows him well enough not to bring it up, not to make it into a _thing,_ not yet at least. 

Ronan’s grateful for it, because he wouldn’t be able to brush it off, to _lie,_ if Adam were to ask him outright. He remembers, so clearly, the night Adam held his face in his hands and told him he’d stay, he’d defer, he’d go somewhere closer, if Ronan needed him to. But he thinks about everything Adam’s given up, everything Adam’s worked for. He thinks about the ever-present dark circles under Adam’s eyes, the ones that he’s worn since Ronan had first seen him. He thinks about Adam and decides he can’t tell him, can’t give him as much as hint that he’s anything other than fine back here. 

So Adam doesn’t ask him, and Ronan doesn’t tell.

  
  


The first few days are alright. 

Although they were rare, there had been periods of time throughout the summer when Adam couldn’t make it out to the Barns for a few days. Picking up extra shifts, squeezing in errands to get sorted in preparation for the school year. It feels enough like it, enough to pretend a little. It hasn’t hit him yet, that Adam won’t be back anytime soon.

So the first few days are alright. 

Opal stays with him, although she doesn’t have to. Lindenmere, beautiful Lindenmere, freshly manifested and waiting for him to come home to it. Opal loves it, too, but she loves Ronan the most. So Ronan saves the call of his forest for later, for the moment he knows is inevitable, when it becomes too much to bear and he needs a distraction. He clings to Opal for as long as he can, and she clings to him too.

She’s a welcome distraction and she enjoys the attention, but Ronan can tell when she starts to long for Adam, too. 

They visit Lindenmere -- physically, in person -- for the first time. Together. 

Ronan watches Opal’s light up, watches her shift in excitement. But her grip on his hand doesn’t loosen, her steps don’t pull her any further than Ronan’s. Her free hand fidgets with Adam’s watch, buckled around her little wrist.

“Kerah…” She looks at him then away, conflicted.

Ronan doesn’t have the heart to chastise her for the nickname this time. 

“It’s okay,” he says, kneels down to her height. He takes her other hand and squeezes them both, gives her a pat on the shoulder and nods toward the trees. “This is for you. It’s okay.”

She looks at him for a second without saying anything, searching his face for something, maybe. She must find it because she finally breaks, swoops in and lands a little wet kiss, sweet, on Ronan’s cheek before he can pull away. 

Opal goes to the forest like she’s pulled on a string, like it’s her calling. It is, though, isn’t it? It’s where she belongs, where she’s supposed to be. He watches her until he can’t see her anymore, and then watches ten minutes more.

The leaves rustle comfortably around him, they sway in tune with the drum of his pulse. 

He swallows. 

He goes home alone. 

  
  


It’s quiet in a way that it hasn’t been in a very long time. It’s quiet in a way that’s not quite _bad_ but perhaps just a little unsettling. It’s quiet in a way that it shouldn’t be, not after it hasn’t been quiet like this in quite some time. It’s quiet in a way that makes Ronan hyper-aware of everything else, hyper-aware of the other kinds of quiet throughout the house, the kinds that have nothing to do with noise.

Ronan hates it immediately, but he powers through it.

Distractions. He tries to find distractions. Things to keep busy. Things to keep his mind off his suddenly empty house, his suddenly quiet life. He’s been through worse, emptier and quieter worse, but just the memory of it makes something twist in his chest. 

He doesn’t want to go back to that.

So Ronan tries to keep busy. He dedicates time to fixing stuff up around the house, the outbuildings, the yard. Grabs the toolbox to get to work. But he can’t help but notice how much lighter it is without the spare tools and bobs Adam had kept there all summer. The set he’s had for years, the set he’d let live here among Ronan’s while he blocked the shitbox and worked on it in the driveway. They’d been hastily packed up and thrown in the trunk before he’d gone, accessible in case he’d need to use them on the trek up to Mass. He’d spent all summer on the damn thing, even let Ronan dream him up a short fix the night before he left, but the Hondoyota could never be trusted. 

Ronan misses the weight of Adam’s tools.

He substitutes thinking about it or handling it by pushing the feeling away and getting to work. Replacing every single hinge in the livestock barn, rusted or not. Testing each and every one for squeaks, WD40 at the ready. The cows -- his cows -- stare at him, judgmental, but he doesn’t so much as glare at them, lest he lose focus. 

It’s dark out by the time he’s done, and that’s really all he can ask for.

  
  


It’s not like Adam is a culinary genius, nor that Adam makes Ronan into one, but having him around is some kind of repellent against meals that probably don’t actually count as meals. Ronan is perfectly content to eat Chef Boyardee straight out the can, cold half the time, just because he can’t be bothered to go the extra step to heat it up. Adam wouldn’t have let him, would’ve balked at him until he let him stick it in the microwave, at least. But they wouldn’t have made it to that point in the first place. When Adam was around, they at least had enough collective dignity to buy Stouffer’s to toss into the oven straight from the freezer.

Ronan wonders if Adam’s eating Chef Boyardee or Stouffer’s in his dorm too, 400-something miles away, before he remembers he has a meal plan. 

The next day, Ronan stocks the freezer full with Stouffer’s. He texts Adam a picture of the cart, and is rewarded with a picture of Adam’s minifridge -- a single serving sized Stouffer’s in the icebox. 

They have dinner together, and it’s not the same, not really, but it makes Ronan feel the quiet just a little bit less.

  
  


When Ronan eventually, reluctantly hangs up ( _“Night, Ro. Tamquam.” “Alter idem.”_ ) he can’t help but feel the cold in his bed that much more. The bed feels too big, big enough to toss and turn until dawn breaks through his window.

  
  


Lindenmere isn’t Cabeswater, but he loves it just as fervently as he had the last.

It’s probably the best thing in Ronan’s arsenal of things that make him feel like he’s doing something, like he has a purpose. Like he isn’t just washed up and pulling random shit out of his head for no reason.

Lindenmere is his finest piece yet, and he doesn’t take that for granted. It’s an instant reminder that he isn’t useless, that he isn’t wasting away in Henrietta when everyone else is out and conquering the world. It’s a reminder that he’s _good_ at something, that he can do so, so much more.

It’s a reminder that he’s loved.

That isn’t to say that Ronan feels _unloved_ necessarily. It’s just. It isn’t the same, when everything he loves is so fucking far away. When he can’t look love in the face, when he can’t hold it, when he can’t bask in its glow. It isn’t the same, when love is sent through telephone lines and bubbles of text. It’s no one’s fault, but it still isn’t the same.

Walking into Lindenmere is like a sudden embrace, a sudden wave of affection, a blanket of warmth and reassurance and the love that he so craves these days.

It isn’t Adam, of course -- it isn’t the feeling of Adam in his arms, of being in Adam’s arms -- but it’s something, and that’s all Ronan can ask for.

So Ronan spends more and more time in his forest, with his trees, where he can feel like he belongs for just a few moments of the day. Sometimes it’s curled up on a cattle blanket in one of the outer buildings, sometimes it’s stretched out on the cot in the long barn. Sometimes it’s curled in his bed, extra pillows piled up the length of one side, just so it doesn’t feel so big.

Sometimes it’s a day trip, dirt roads and a bit of a hike, rewarded with a breath of air that feels crisp with _rightfulness_ , overflowing with reassurance and calm and _love._

The first time that time slips up, Ronan feels like he’s only been in for a couple of hours. He arrives in the morning, lays in the soft grass of the grove, entertains Opal once she seeks him out and clings to his visit. She shows him all of the things she’s found and collected and created since she saw him last. Ronan watches the way she fidgets with Adam’s watch while she talks, doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. He gets it, though, he understands.

Eventually, Ronan starts to think about lunch. He gives Opal a hug, runs a thumb over her wrist, her watch, and promises to come back soon. He’s got a list of things to do at the Barns for the afternoon, already running through his head as he finds his way out.

Except when he steps out of the forest, the sky is dark and his phone starts buzzing incessantly against his thigh. He curses, realizing too late that he should’ve had the foresight to anticipate the bend of time. Ronan dutifully ignores any and all notifications from DBAG LYNCH and goes straight for the stack from MANAGEMENT. 

Signal is still pretty shitty at the base of the mountains, dream forest or not, but Ronan keeps hitting _CALL_ the entire walk back. His stomach twists in guilt, tighter and tighter until Adam finally picks up.

 _“Are you okay?”_ is the first thing Adam says, the panic in his voice poorly concealed. Ronan’s stomach lurches.

“Yeah, I’m okay, I’m sorry,” Ronan says in a rush, doesn’t even realize the breathiness in his voice until the words are coming out all at once. “I was in Lindenmere. Time slip,” he tries to explain.

He can hear Adam’s sigh of relief on the other end. _“Oh. I thought--”_ He stops, instead, _“that’s good.”_ He pauses, a bit of shuffling in the background. _“How’s Opal?”_

Ronan relaxes, hadn’t even realized how stiff he’d been. He’s made it to his car, finally, and it’s easy to slip into the familiar driver’s seat and lean back into it. To lean into easy retelling of his morning (day?) with Opal. To lean into Adam’s voice, fond and curious and warm.

It’s not quite the feeling of Lindenmere’s trees whispering around him, it’s not quite the feeling of Adam right there with him, but it’s something, and that’s all Ronan can ask for.

It’s a reminder that he’s loved.

  
  


Ronan knows, abstractly, that the move, the change, isn’t easy for Adam, either. He hasn’t really thought too hard about it -- maybe purposefully avoided it, even -- but he’s known it since the day he tapped the top of the shitbox and watched Adam drive away. He’s known, even if he hadn’t cared to admit to anyone, not even himself.

So Ronan doesn’t think about it until it’s staring right at him.

_I miss you so much, it’s lonely here sometimes_

Ronan blinks at the text, and there’s a tug in his heart. 

_and also iced tea :(_

He doesn’t hesitate when his phone rings, and he doesn’t hesitate to whisper strings of words and reassurances and distractions into it when he hears the quaver in Adam’s voice. Ronan wants nothing more than to pull him in close, to tuck his face against him, to rub the stress out of muscles and reassure him that he’s here, he’s loved, he’s his. Ronan wants.

 _“I know it’s dumb, but.”_ Adam says, quiet, confessional almost, vulnerable in a way that’s so unlike him. _“It doesn’t matter how many people are here. It’s lonely because I wish you were here.”_

Ronan makes his mind up before Adam whispers _“alter idem”_ back to him, before the click of the line when he hangs up. There are a lot of things he can endure, the hurt of his own heart is the easiest of all. But there are some things that can’t be ignored. The hurt of a heart that he holds so carefully in his own hands, that’s one.

  
  


“Morning, Encyclopedia. Go outside,” Ronan hums into his phone, hours later. The sun warm as it peeks low through the buildings and trees, rising for the day.

 _“Nmm,”_ Adam groans, tinny through the speaker, _“shut up, farmer. I’m still sleeping.”_

Ronan laughs. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “I mean it,” Ronan amends this time, “ _come_ outside.”

It takes Adam a second, but Ronan can tell when the realization hits him because he’s suddenly very awake. _“You didn’t.”_

“Come outside,” Ronan says again.

Adam works fast, because there he is in the doorway and bounding down the path, just a couple minutes later. Ronan has a split second where he second guesses himself, maybe this was too much, maybe this wasn’t what Adam wanted at all. But it’s gone in a flash, the second that he sees Adam’s face. The second that Adam explodes into a grin, eyes wide and warm and _longing_ , and Ronan knows then that it was absolutely worth it.

“You’re really here,” Adam beams, slipping easily into the passenger seat with such familiarity it hits Ronan square in the heart. It’s an overwhelming feeling, having Adam right here, right next to him, after all this time of _not_ having him.

Adam must be able to tell, or maybe he feels it, too. Their hands slide together easily, fingers entwine without missing a beat. Like they haven’t missed any time at all.

He doesn’t even need to hold him to feel the warmth of his embrace, just his presence is enough to wash over him, to envelop him in a feeling that feels like the rustling breeze of the trees, but ten times stronger. It’s a wave of rightfulness, a tide of calm, an overpour of love.

Ronan doesn’t voice any of that, though, because he knows he doesn’t have to. Instead, he gives Adam’s hand a squeeze, pecks him quick and chaste on the cheek.

“Please tell me you know where to get a decent waffle around here,” is what Ronan says instead. 

Adam grins, and gives him directions.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

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